A False Sense of Forever
by Roseclaw
Summary: Kyle reflects on escaping from South Park and Stan ends up dragging him into politics to try to uncover a conspiracy. Kyle’s POV. Slash! StanGregory... seriously
1. Chapter 1

All rights and privileges to " South Park" are copyrighted trademarks and property of Trey Parker, Matt Stone, Comedy Central, and all peoples associated. The characters of these fictions are used WITHOUT permission for the entertainment purposes only. This work of fiction is not meant for sale or profit. As if anyone would actually pay money for this thoughtless drivel. And even if they like it, it's right here and money is not required. So there! Bottom line: I don't own them I just like to play God with them. Like an ant walking back and forth across my feet for what seems like miles upon miles. Or a bug with a magnifying glass as it slowly burns into nothingness. Ahem Yes, I don't own them. Never have. Never will. Sigh…

A/N: Slash! That's right. This story contains slash. Don't like - don't read, that simple. And just so you're aware, I have no idea where this came from. NONE! I just started writing and this came out. And I haven't seen this pairing before, and I am all about the nontraditional pairings.

This is just the prologue, the actual first chapter will be posted as soon as I type it up.

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_A False Sense of Forever_

_---_

There is a feeling I associate with being on top of a mountain. I call it "forever," but that is only my word for it. The euphoria of being on top of the world, looking out over everything is astronomical. When the wind is blowing, I sometimes feel like I weigh nothing, like I can fly if I just jump off the edge.

Sometimes when my rational side tells me that I cannot fly, I want to jump anyway, just so that I can end up as a bloody smear on the rocks and snow below. I always stop myself at the last moment, as I envision myself careening through the air and colliding solidly with the ground. I know I would not come back to life like Kenny miraculously does. I have my whole life to change this god-awful world; I might as well try and not give up so early.

I blame this town for my contradicting thoughts of childish immortality and suicide. Kenny doesn't help much either. I had escaped this town. I had finally escaped, but it – this town – is the only thing that accepts me: it should, it made me. I had attended school in Boston: M.I.T. The city had tried to break me. There were too many people too close to each other. They didn't care about anyone like the people of South Park do. They are out for themselves like the people from home… well, the people of South Park mean well, and I know how to handle them. While I was at school, I took a weekend trip to New York City – being from the west it's a given when visiting the east – and I found that even worse than Boston. I'm a country boy, not cut out for the city: I need my wide open spaces.

I lasted a semester before I came running home with my tail between my legs. Everything at home was so familiar, and I knew that I couldn't change. For the spring semester I'm going to be attending a small university in northern California.

The thing about South Park is that once someone escapes its clutches they never return; I am the sole outlier. So I met up with those who had stayed behind: Kenny, Terrance, Butters, and Rebecca.

Kenny couldn't afford it. He is saving up for his chance to escape by working two fulltime jobs. I rarely see him, and when I do his sanity is barely there.

Terrance was too dumb.

Butters… I actually feel sorry for Butters. He doesn't have even half the chance of escaping that Kenny does. Before he even knew fully what sex was, he was having it. He knocked up Lexus when we were all fourteen. She had refused to do anything about the thing that grew inside her. Butters was completely shocked. He had no idea where children came from, and he was going to be a father. He had to drop out of school to earn money so that he could support his child. It's actually quite scary how great of a father he actually is and his boy is exactly like he is only with confidence that comes from the love of a parent.

Lexus died of a heroin overdose a year and a half after giving birth.

Rebecca suffered the same fate as Butters, only her child has no father. Seriously, no father. Doctors examined her and determined her to still be a virgin. Even a karyotype was done: the results pointed to both sets of chromosomes being identical. The kid is like the second Christ or maybe the Messiah we Jews have been waiting for. The only problem was that the kid happened to be female. People of any given faith are adverse to female religious icons – other than the Virgin Mary. I mean, look at Eve. So not only does the kid have no father, but the mother has now been labeled as the town's latest whore, taking over Lexus's position after she died. Rebecca might have been able to handle it if she had not been in South Park or if she had not been sixteen. Her parents disowned her.

Everyone else escaped, more or less. Some people were able to handle the outside world, even wanting it, craving it… Others like myself couldn't deal.

For a small town we sure have a lot of problems. There were two pregnancies in our class alone, which I know doesn't sound like much, but that's about eight percent of our class. We also had heroin addicts and other nasty things.

My junior year there was a massacre… kinda. Pip went mad. He obtained a gun, I'm assuming from Stan's Uncle Jimbo, and he brought it to school, tired of being harassed. He just went crazy, shouting, crying, waving the gun around, and scaring everybody shitless. And he only fired one shot: he shot Cartman in the arm. After the shock of actually shooting someone wore off, Pip desperately wanted to die. The police were on him before he could put a bullet to his head, but he told them if they tried anything he would kill himself. The police sent Damien to negotiate. No one heard what was said, but Damien tore open the earth and took Pip's hand as they jumped into the ground. Pip smiled tiredly.

What hit closest to home was Stan. Senior year, in May right before the prom, he told me in confidence that he was having a secret affair. I was astonished. He always wore his heart out on his sleeve; he always voiced his opinion when he thought something was wrong within society; he was always the "cute" one of us all; he was the star quarterback for Christ's sake! That is my best friend. He should not have had to keep his affair a secret. By convention he should have been swimming in cheerleaders, but honestly he had not had a date since middle school, and he is not the type for casual sex.

Stan not only told me that he was in a secret relationship, but that relationship was with another guy. Needless to say, I was shocked. I guess I should have suspected something when I started dating Wendy junior year, and Stan said absolutely nothing negative about me or Wendy. The relationship didn't last that long, just long enough to test our friendship.

Stan wanted to go to the prom with him. He didn't like secrets and not standing up to convention. He wanted my help; he had pleaded for my help. He had been hysterical – and shit-faced. So I told him what I thought: I told him not to go with his boyfriend as a date but to go separately and just hang. South Park is too conservative for their relationship and they would end up being hurt even more. Mr. Garrison and Mr. Slave were a different matter; they were adults from the outside, but Stan was a product of South Park.

Stan didn't talk to me for a week. He ignored my advice and took his boyfriend to the prom. If Stan had not been a jock or had me fighting by his side, he would have ended up in the hospital. He never mocked me again for carrying a hunting knife everywhere.

After graduation the two eloped to Vancouver where they were going to attend school. I haven't heard from them since.

I have heard from Cartman. He's in LA: University of Southern California. He's majoring in business. Of course. He's doing really well – even has a GPA of 3.7. And LA is the best place for business. His business sense outgrew South Park when we were in seventh grade. He'd been counting down the days until he could leave since then.

At least he's happy. He's even dropped all his witty remarks about me being Jewish. I guess that's fair because I can no longer quip about his weight. He lost most of it when he had a huge growth spurt our freshman year and shot up nearly a foot or so. He's now about six and a half feet. He's not exactly a normal weight, but he's not obese any more.

I told him about my transfer. He called me a pussy. I told him to come visit and I'd buy him a beer. He accepted.

My musings are interrupted by the shrill call of the telephone. I have been lying in bed all morning trying really hard not to climb out. It is a little after noon on Christmas Day.

It's my cell, so I can't rely on my parents or Ike to answer it.

I grope for the phone and answer with a cheeky "Hag Sameach."

"Clever." It's Stan!

"Dude! What's – "

"Carl's Warehouse. Half an hour." He interrupts. He then has the balls to hang up.

Of course.

Ass rammer.

---

"Hag Sameach" is Hebrew for "Happy Holidays."

If you would like me to continue, please let me know!


	2. The Inquisition

I don't think I can thank everyone enough for reviewing!

Here is the introduction to the plot! Yay!

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Chapter 1: The Inquisition

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I grumble curses at Stan while I go about my morning routine: change, piss, brush teeth, wash face, deal with my hair, and –what my friends don't know – put in my contacts. My contacts and my hair are my only vanities. My hair because, well, it's my 'fro and I need to do a lot to keep it manageable. And because I do so much for it, I might as well show it off: no more hats – at least when I'm having a good hair day. My contacts, though… I just don't want people to know that I have bad eyes. All those years of staring at a computer screen. I am enough of a geek without glasses.

I grab a few Christmas cookies on the way out. Just because we're Jewish doesn't mean we don't have nice Christian friends. I think the ones in my hand were born in the Marsh kitchen.

"Where are you going, young man?" my mother demands.

I shove a cookie into my mouth to keep from answering.

"You're going to go into shock if you have cookies for breakfast." Fucking diabetes.

I put the rest of the cookies back and grab a carrot from the fridge.

"Now, where are you going?"

"Out," I clip.

"When will you be back?"

I have no fucking clue. I don't even know what Stan wants. "Later."

I leave before she can bitch at me for being evasive, eating the carrot on the way.

The walk to the Warehouse is almost unbearable. The wind had started up and I can't tell if it's snowing or blowing – probably both. The Warehouse itself has defiantly seen better days: it looks like a beam could collapse at any moment.

_Though you die, La Résistance lives on…_

That song in my head is not the best sign I've ever received. I knock on the door anyway.

"What's the password?" The question is severely muddled.

"Stan's a douche."

The door opens, exposing Stan, looking like he's going through another Goth phase, only with leather. He has a small silver hoop in each earlobe, an industrial bar through his right ear, sideburns that really don't work for him, and only the beard part of a goatee. He grabs my arm and pulls me inside.

As soon as I regain my balance, I envelope him in a tight, yet manly hug. I pull away, my hands on his shoulders, looking him in the eyes.

"What the fuck, dude!" I demand, shaking him once gently. "What's with the fucking secrecy? You completely blow me off and then – " I catch a glimpse of yellow out of the corner of my eye. "You're in trouble, aren't you? What the hell did you do?"

Stan looks away. "We're in deep shit."

Gregory steps out of the shadows. "We stumbled upon something quite interesting, and they stumbled upon us."

"You don't cover your asses. You're – You're recruiting me!" I realize.

"He is clever." A French voice praises me from behind. I don't need to turn around to know who it is.

"You're still working with The Mole?"

"Every underground political society needs a mole."

"How many of you are there?"

"Four," Stan states, "if you're in."

"Dude! That's so fucking presumptuous!"

"You're a hacker. You live for this shit."

"I hack into whitehouse dot com, not gov!"

"Kyle, be reasonable," Stan admonishes.

"I am being extremely reasonable! I haven't heard from you in six months: you refused to answer my emails, phone calls, and you were never on AIM. Then you call me on Christmas Day to tell me that you've been a complete douche and forgot to cover your asses, and now you're in deep shit and need my help to save your sorry, unprotected ass, possibly leading me to my death." Stan blushes, knowing I made a jab at his sexuality as well as his lack of common sense. "Well count me out. I'm going home to Chinese food, and then I'm going back to school and live out my boring computer geek life."

Stan stares at me, heartbroken. His eyes grow large and he juts out his lower lip.

"Dude, don't even think about it," I warn. "It's not going to work."

"It works on Greg."

"That's 'cause he's fucking you up the ass."

"You are too, just not literally," he stammers out. "And it doesn't feel nearly as good." His face is bright red. I hope he pops a blood vessel.

"Quit trying to guilt me," I demand.

"Kyle, we're in way over our heads," he implores.

"Don't drag me under with you!"

"This is a waste of time," The Mole states irritably. "He's too much of a whiny bitch. He's not going to do it."

Finally! Someone understands!

"No," Stan says firmly. "We risked our asses entering the country! I'm not leaving without someone who can help us."

How can Stan not understand that I don't want to be an activist? I suppose if I can't convince him, I can defiantly convince Gregory.

I put my hands on either side of Stan's face, caressing him lightly. He's freezing beneath my fingertips and shivers lightly.

"Look, dude, you chose this, you can do fine without me." I drop one hand down to his hip, rubbing it in small circles. He blushes. "You can do fine without me," I repeat, whispering in his ear.

There is a hand around my wrist before I finish my sentence, crushing the bones together. I've made the lover angry.

"He's quite right, Stan," Gregory says coldly. "_We_ can do just fine without him." He lets go of my wrist.

The Mole snorts something that sounds like "more faggots." I ignore him.

I know I'm a shitty friend, a selfish one, but I don't want my life fucked up because Stan has an odd taste in men. I suppose Wendy is partially to blame: she showed him politics, and Gregory picked up where she left off.

"Fuck," I state plainly. Stan looks at me hopefully, knowing full well that he's won.

"That Chinese sounds good," he smiles innocently. Well, feigning innocence.

"You said you risked yourself coming into the country; I'm not going to take you to my home! You haven't even been to your own house, have you? There's no way am I going to risk my family!"

"Dude, your mom started a war. I think she can handle a few… us."

I shrug. Yeah, I'm not worried about my mother; she's a bitch who can hold her own. It's my dad and brother I'm worried about.

"And what are you?" I ask, unsure if I want an answer.

Gregory puts a hand on Stan's shoulder. "Political fugitives."

"Shit, dudes, what did you do?"

"Can we discus this over Chinese?" Stan asks. "We haven't eaten in a while."

Goddamn guilt. "You're so going to pay," I threaten. "You can mooch as long as you tell me exactly what's going on."

Stan grins. "I knew you'd – "

"Then I'll decide if it's worth dying for."

"Bitch."

"He'll do it," Stan says to The Mole.

I sigh. "Come on, all of you. I'm sure my mother will be thrilled to have company." No one catches the sarcasm.

"We cannot leave together," Gregory says urgently.

"It's Christmas and it's snowing. Nobody is going to notice us."

"That is very stupid," The Mole states.

"Christophe, you're forgetting we're in South Park," Stan points out.

"Let's just go. It's freezing balls in here," I say impatiently.

Stan herds The Mole and Gregory out the door.

The walk back home is a tense one. No one says anything. It's not until we're within sight of my house that curiosity takes hold of my mouth and makes me say crazy things.

"So what's with the black leather?"

Stan looks like he's about to vomit. So Gregory likes it, eh?

"Greg thinks… he, well…"

"He thinks it makes you fuckable?" I ask in a sing-song voice.

Gregory punches me in the arm. I'm sure he's wanted to do that since my mom started that war. My comments about him and Stan haven't helped either. The little fucker hit me hard too.

"My God!" Stan exasperates. "How old are you two?"

"This rouge is – "

"Stuff it, you British piece of shit," I growl, breathing heavily. I inhale a snowflake and sneeze, ruining the dramatic moment.

"Now that the protective best friend loyalty is over," Stan interjects before we can continue, "Let's go inside before my dick freezes off."

The Mole nods in agreement but says nothing. Gregory disturbingly licks his lips.

I throw Stan a sour look that I must have picked up from my mother.

He gives me a cheeky smile in return.

I roll my eyes and let them into my house.

"Mom!" I shout. "We have company!"

"What? What? What!" Comes booming from the bowels of my home. I give Stan an "I told you so" look.

"It's me, Mrs. Broflovski," he yells.

"Oh, Stan!" My mother comes hurrying into the room. "So good to see you!" She looks at Gregory and The Mole. "Who are you?"

"Stan's friends," I say quickly. "From school." It's not that far from the truth.

"Gregory and Christophe," he introduces, gesturing to them respectively.

"Where do you go to school again?"

"In Canada."

I'm glad my mother doesn't recognize Gregory. That would not be cool.

"We're going up to my room, Mom. Oh and Stan and his friends want Chinese too."

"We'll be ordering shortly." I'm surprised she doesn't make a fuss.

We go upstairs to my room. As soon as the door is locked, I interrogate Stan, ignoring Gregory and The Mole who has been strangely quiet – not one comment about God.

They sit in a line on my bed while I pace. Stan is leaning into Gregory slightly.

"Now dude, what the fuck!"

"There is a conspiracy going on with multiple governments, including the US and Britain."

"I figured," I say. There is always a conspiracy of some sort. "This doesn't have to do with Terrence and Phillip, I hope."

"Nothing that simple, unfortunately," Stan sighs. "In fact, it's really fucking complicated."

"Stop being so vague and answer the fucking question!" My voice raises to a level that is not as discrete as Gregory would like it to be: he looks pained.

"Stop pacing and calm down," Stan pleads.

"Just tell me," I command in a stage whisper.

"I've had enough of his bitching, just tell him!" The Mole finally explodes. I couldn't have said it better myself. Oh, wait, I said the exact same thing.

"I was doing research for my European History paper," Stan begins. "On the Spanish Inquisition." I see how much that has to do with us. Stan sees my incredulity and glares. "I went through a US server, not Canadian and only typed 'Inquisition' not 'Spanish.' For some strange reason a site on Italy came up. I was curious and in the mood for procrastination, so I clicked on it. It turned out to be a site on the Vatican and it was recent news.

"I was still curious, even more than before, and I called Greg over to look. He found a link from that site to a US government site. He hacked into their server and found that the Vatican has teamed up with several governments to create a new Inquisition around the world."

He looks me square in the eyes; I accept his challenge and stare him down.

"You pissed off the fucking Vatican!"

"Um… yeah," he says sheepishly.

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Dude! It has everything to do with you! Don't you even know about the Spanish Inquisition?"

"I'm majoring in computer science and chemistry; those have nothing to do with history."

"But you're a Jew!"

"So?" I bite back.

"Didn't you learn about it in Jew school or something?"

"No, just the Old Testament and stuff," I explain, more confused than before.

He sighs something that I can't quite catch. "Look, dude, they want to kill off all the fucking Jews."

"Shit," I breathe. I actually knew that about the Inquisition but I never associated it with the Spanish… weird programming in my head. "You're saying – "

"White Christian Supremacy."

"Fuck, dude! You're saying the US is in on this too? What about Canada?"

"Canada is too tolerant," Gregory says with a shake of his head.

"You in?" Stan asks.

"How?" I ask.

"How are you in?"

Gregory puts a hand on Stan's shoulder and squeezes gently. I suppose he is used to Stan's obtuse moments.

"No, how are they trying to do this? Spread all their slander?"

"Smoke and mirrors," Gregory answers.

"Why?"

"We don't know," Gregory continues.

"Scapegoat?"

"Possibly."

"Hatred?"

"Definitely."

Stan looks at me imploringly.

Goddamn it!

"What do you guys plan to do?"

"Does this mean you're in?" Stan beams.

"No, it means I'm curious." The Mole smirks and snorts. "Well?"

"We don't know," Stan admits. "But they think we do."

"You are in deep."

"We know."

"BOYS!" My mother calls. "Come tell me what food you want!"

There is a thundering indicating that Ike is running down the stairs.

"Come on, let's go eat," I sigh.

The three of them are too eager in their haste to go downstairs, like Ike.

At the top of the stairs I ask, "When _was_ the last time you guys ate?"

"Two days ago," Gregory says solemnly, struggling to keep himself composed. The other two run down the stairs.

"If I had known, I would have given you guys something a long time ago!"

"Now, now, there's no need to blame yourself."

That bastard! He's trying to guilt me. I refuse to be guilted into this… this quest! It's Stan's ever-present quest for equality and for what is right.

"I want Moo Goo Gai – Stan!" Ike squeals.

"Hey Ike!"

Gregory and I enter the kitchen. The Mole is studying a paper menu intently. Stan has Ike in a headlock and is messing up his hair.

"Kyle! Help me!"

"I'm sure you can take on Stan," I tell him absently. I look over The Mole's shoulder.

My mother joins us, scowling at Stan, who releases Ike.

"I'll have the firecracker beef," Stan smiles stunningly at her. My mother has never known what to make of Stan.

Ike takes advantage of Stan's ass-kissing and pokes him in the kidneys.

Stan jumps.

Gregory mutters something in Stan's ear that makes him blush.

"I shall have General Tso's Chicken," The Mole declares, slamming down the paper menu.

"I as well," Gregory decides, standing a bit too close to Stan but far enough away so that my mother doesn't notice.

"Kyle?" my mother prompts, looking at me expectantly.

"The usual." I'm very unadventurous.

She nods and goes into the living room to order.

Ike attaches to Stan again. "Why are you so mean?" he whines. Gregory looks unhappy.

"What did I do?"

"Come on! You fell off the face of the Earth!"

"Sorry," he apologizes. "I – We were really busy."

Ike looks at Gregory and then The Mole. "Do I know you?" His eyes settle back on Gregory.

"Look, Ike." Stan removes Ike's hands from around his waist. "It's probably best you forgot we were here at all."

"What do you mean?" Ike's short attention span strikes again

"Stan's a tard and is tangled in something dumb," I supply dryly.

"Like the Mob?" Ike asks excitedly.

"Sure," Stan agrees.

"Cool!"

"Yes, brilliant," Gregory says wryly.

"I swear I know you," Ike squints at Gregory.

"Ike," I warn. "Don't make me do it!" I draw back my right leg. He cowers behind Stan.

Damn straight!

"That was uncalled for!" he whimpers.

"Don't be a baby," I sigh. I look at Gregory's face: he looks pained again. Oh, he's probably hungry. Understatement – he's probably about to keel over from starvation.

I go to the fridge and grab the eggnog. I love the stuff and it makes me sad that it's only around during Christmas… Although I associate it with winter, not Christmas.

I pour five glasses of it. Stan thinks I'm joking when I give him the glass. "Jesus, Stan, it's not poisoned – or even expired." There is an undertone of "drink it because I know you haven't eaten in days."

Gregory and The Mole down theirs quickly – not a smart idea; but then most people who starve aren't exactly knowledgeable when it comes to food.

Stan finally takes the glass and sips slowly.

Ike downs his. His glass was just to make him shut up about Gregory.

"I know where I know you from!"

Fuck!

"You were Stan's prom date!"

Well, I suppose that's better than remembering him from the war.

Stan flinches. "Ike, can I speak with you privately?" He ushers Ike out of the kitchen before he can answer.

"Is he Canadian?" The Mole asks.

"Yeah, adopted," I supply simply.

"Strange…" he trails off pensively.

Gregory steadfastly ignores me, opting for the entertainment provided by the drops of eggnog at the bottom of his glass. I find Gregory's curls intriguing…

In the past hour I have been with these guys, The Mole has not lit up once. When we were kids he always had a cigarette between his lips.

"Mole, did you quit smoking?"

He grunts and I assume that means 'yes.' "The smell made me detectable," he tells me.

I don't press the issue, but I bet the story parallels the one explaining why he is so quiet.

Silence settles on us. I can almost hear Gregory gnashing his teeth together. Well, this is awkward.

Stan returns without Ike.

"What did you tell him?" The Mole demands.

"Nothing confidential," Stan mumbles. "Just enough so that he can protect himself. He still thinks it's the Mob."

I am now worried about the safety of my brother. Fuck, I already know too much. And he had to mess with Ike. He knew what he was doing, conniving bastard!

"I'm in," I mutter dejectedly.

Stan's grin threatens to split his face.

The doorbell rings. The three jump and scamper upstairs.

Ike races to the front door singing "Chinese!" My dad follows him to the door, wallet ready.

"Boys!" he calls. "Dinner's here!"

Stan is down the stairs in a heartbeat, followed closely by The Mole. Gregory comes down a good minute later.

"Eat slowly," I tell them softly so that my parents don't hear.

Even with the warning, they haven't eaten in days, and they inhale their food.

My mom and dad watch them eat in silent confusion.

"So Stan," my dad asks. "What are you studying in school?"

"Political Science," he answers through a mouthful of food. He swallows before continuing. "Foreign Policy."

"Now, I don't mean to pry," my dad says in that tone of his. He uses that tone when he wants me or Ike to confess to something bad like ditching school. "But why are you not eating Christmas dinner at home?"

Fuck.

Well, I'd like to see how Stan weasels his way out of this one.

"It's 'cause the Mob is after him!" Ike blurts out excitedly.

"Why is the Mob after you?" my dad asks, humoring Ike.

"I stole from Fat Tony," Stan confesses with a dramatic sigh. "I should have known better than to go on a date with his wife… But with a face like mine, I have women falling over me all the time. It would be a crime to not take advantage of it."

I suppress ironic laughter, and judging by Stan's quick falter in expression and Gregory's frown, Gregory kicked him under the table. The Mole doesn't even glance up from his food, but his slight smirk indicates his amusement.

Ike, however, is giggling hysterically eventually choking and coughing.

My mother smacks him on the back and then rubs in small circles.

My dad glances at Stan who is studying his plate. "Stan?"

"I can't go home," he whispers.

I'm happy that neither he nor my mother pry. I'm sure Stan is even happier.

We continue dinner in an awkward silence, occasionally broken by a wheeze from Ike.

Without being asked to, I clear the table and wash the dishes. Gregory joins me, drying them.

"We need to leave soon," he announces. His words are slightly slurred. My God, he hasn't eaten in days and who knows how long it's been since he's slept.

"When was the last time you slept?"

He gives me a tart look and doesn't answer.

"Why don't you sleep and we can figure it out in the morning."

"Sleep," he murmurs, his eyes sliding close. "Where are we to sleep?

"My room, I guess." I dry my hands. "I'll grab you guys sleeping bags. Two?"

His eyes shoot open. "Pardon?"

"Two sleeping bags: one for The Mole and one for you and Stan." He looks confused. "You know what, just take my bed."

"We don't mean to impose."

That angers me. He came to force me to join Stan's cause and ate the food my parents provided all the while looking like death warmed over. And life in South Park has taught me what exactly death warmed over looks like.

"Maybe you don't, but Stan sure did," I bite back.

Gregory frowns, not amused, but too tired to be truly angry.

"My God, just go to sleep!" I take him by the shoulders and lead him upstairs to my room. I push him down on the bed and he's asleep before his shoes are completely removed. I'll let Stan deal with him later.

When I go back downstairs, Stan and The Mole are chatting with my parents. Or rather, just Stan, The Mole is staring off into the middle distance with a bored expression on his face.

"So Kyle," my mother starts. I don't like where this could be going. "Stan says he wants to take you up to Vancouver until you start school."

So that's how he plans to do it. Clever bastard.

"That would be cool," I shrug, attempting nonchalance. If my parents permit it.

"Where's Greg?" Stan asks, trying not to sound eager.

"He fell asleep upstairs." Hopefully my parents will attribute that to traveling and being a college kid. It's only four in the afternoon.

"Oh." He relaxes visibly.

"I think it would be a wonderful opportunity for you," my mother continues. "Your father and I were going to wait until it was closer to the beginning of the semester, but we were going to give you a car so that you would be able to come home for breaks."

"Dude!" Stan exclaims.

"Sweet!" I gasp. An awesome bonus! I'll thank Stan later.

"So you can take it to Canada with you, and then go right to school with all your stuff," my father explains. They are making this almost too easy!

"You guys are awesome!" I gush.

"There's one stipulation," my mother continues. Of course there's a stipulation. "You must visit Ike's mother."

"Umm…" What! "Sure, mom. She lives in Vancouver, right?"

"Of course, Kyle."

"Kyle," Stan says. "Can Christophe and I speak with you? It's… um, kinda personal."

"Sure, dude."

We head upstairs. I shout a thank you back down to my parents.

We enter my room and The Mole clicks the door shut and locks it.

Gregory stirs, but doesn't visibly wake. Stan goes over to him and carefully removes his shoes, gently caressing the rest of his body.

Gregory leans into his touch; I swear his breath even hitched. He is awake, just too fatigued to move. Stan sits down at the head of my bed and places Gregory's head in his lap, running his hand through his curls.

"It's sickening, no?"

I shrug. I'm not bothered. Should I be?

Stan kisses the top of Gregory's head. Although when Gregory buries his face into Stan's upper inner thigh, I look away.

"We have much to discuss," Stan informs me. "Much."

I couldn't agree more.

---

Yay for plot! And I apologize right now, but there probably won't be any more updates until December. Thank you for your patience.

Yes, I am aware that Kyle is acting a bit like Cartman, and I did it purposefully. The explanation is in the next chapter.

I am an avid Stan slasher. I have this strange hypothesis that he's actually gay in the series, but has no idea yet. Well, duh, he's 8. The first clue is that his maternal uncle is gay (And It Hits the Fan). The whole bleeping out the word "fag" unless you're gay. It was Dean Hamer who conducted a study of gay males and 7.3 had a gay maternal uncle compared to the 1.7 that had a gay paternal uncle. (Read more of his stuff, if you're interested. It's really fascinating, yet not entirely conclusive.) The second clue is that he has a girlfriend. I don't know if it's just my little hick town, but every guy I knew who had a girlfriend in elementary school turned out gay. No idea why; and it's really weird. Of course there were only three of them, but still, it's really weird.

I can totally see this pairing in the series.

Just a strange little fact about my life: the day after "Two Days Before the Day After Tomorrow" about 20 people came up to me asking for my Jew-gold. I had to flash them all to prove I had none. Everyone knows Jew's keep their gold between their legs.

Thank you to all you lovely people who reviewed the prologue and encouraged me to continue! I love you all!


	3. The Holocaust

Sorry this chapter took so long. My computer died in Dec. and I didn't have it back until Feb. Thank you for being patient.

_Warning_: **EXPLICIT SCIENCE CONTENT**

**- - -**

Chapter 2: The Holocaust

- - -

"First and foremost, you're in?" Stan asks seriously.

I nod. "You guys have me by the balls! But if this dare turns into Tatooine I will rip off your nutsack." I don't want my family endangered.

"Good to know we have Cartman in on this," Stan says dryly.

"Sorry, dude, but you went away and all I had left was him!" I cry indignantly.

Gregory twitches in his sleep and Stan glares at me.

"I'm sorry! I told you why I didn't contact you!" he hisses. "You have no idea what it was like to be cut off like that! From everybody!"

"At least you had Gregory and The Mole," I find myself saying sullenly. "I had no one. No one. Cartman was the only kid my age I spoke to! For six months! Everybody else was too busy with their own new lives to keep ties from their old life. And all the people that stayed… they had their own live too. I've seen Kenny out of work twice in the past six months.

"The city broke me, Stan. That's why I go to school in California now."

Stan avoids my eyes and doesn't comment. The Mole, however, has no problem voicing his opinion: "You're a faggot."

I resist the urge to punch him.

"I didn't know," Stan says quietly.

Oh damn it! I've forgotten how emotional he is.

"Dude, it's cool, just keep in mind that a lot has changed since you left, not just you."

There is an uncomfortable silence and I think Gregory truly falls asleep again.

"When do you plan on taking me away?" I finally ask.

"As soon as possible," Stan says quietly as if he himself is unsure. "Love." He shakes Gregory softly. "Wake up for a moment."

Gregory stirs and grunts in affirmation.

"When do you wish to leave?"

"Tomorrow," he answers groggily before going back to sleep. For a slurred tone, his response was rather coherent, which I find strange.

"I'm assuming he means after I have my car."

"What car?" Gregory's eyes fly open and he sits upright.

"My parents are giving me a car," I shrug.

"This is very bad," he mutters to himself gravely.

"Why?" I ask.

"Will it be registered to you or your parents?"

"My parents, I guess." I don't understand how this is a big deal.

"What has you so worked up?" Stan asks tenderly, sliding a hand around Gregory's waist.

"The registration can be traced back to your parents. They obviously have no idea what you are about to be doing – what have you told them?"

"I told them that I wanted Kyle to come up and visit until school started for him," Stan explains.

"So they think he's going back to school?"

"Yes."

"God damn it – " I have never heard a vulgarity come from Gregory's mouth ever before.

"Calm down, Greg," Stan coos into his hair. The Mole is right: it is sickening.

"When he doesn't show up, people will become suspicious, especially his parents."

"So he hacks into the DMV and his school records," Stan offers.

My God! Why am I doing this again!

"I can't believe I'm doing this," I moan into my hands.

"It sucks," The Mole confirms.

"But it betters the world!" Stan responds vehemently.

"But it's destroying my future!"

"Kyle, stop thinking about what your parents want you to think!" Stan admonishes. "You aren't your mother. You aren't your father. What do you want to do with your life?"

"I don't want to be constantly on the run from the government that I expect to employ me in the future, and there is no way that I'm going to be constantly on the run from the fucking Vatican! Every clergy in the world could be after us!" Shit, I'm already including myself.

"Would you rather fun from your best friend?"

Damn him. Damn him. Damn him!

"Stan," I growl. "How fucking dare you!"

The Mole steps between us. "Both of you are acting like girls!"

Stan and I glare at him before we go back to glaring at each other.

"Kyle, I don't think you realize exactly what is going on." Stan tries to pull the pathetic puppy look again. And I'm beginning to hate my conscience.

"Then tell me what exactly is going on!" I hiss.

The Mole comes up behind me and roughly shoves me down in front of my desk.

"Turn it on," he commands, pointing to my laptop.

I do. While it boots up, I can feel him breathing heavily behind me. I'm sure Stan is being disgustingly sweet with Gregory, but I still feel them staring at me.

The Mole is intrigued by the desktop on my computer: an artistic photograph of a nude woman with large, silicon breasts.

"She a friend of yours?" Gregory asks.

"Ha, ha," I say dryly. Pompous ass. "Now what am I doing?"

"Go to whatever search engine you want," The Mole instructs. "And make sure you're cloaked." If he's this arrogant about hacking, why do they need me?

I open up a browser and do my thing. When Google's site comes up, I wait impatiently for The Mole to give me instructions.

"Type in 'inquisition' and 'Vatican,'" he orders.

I do as I'm instructed like a good little boy. Over ten pages of results pop up, including an ad for E-bay asking if I want to buy "Vatican." I'm tempted to click on it, but The Mole points to the fifth link down.

"That one."

I click on it.

It's a news article, dated this past September.

_Vatican _et cetera, et cetera. Blah blah. I don't know much Catholicism, so it makes little sense to me.

I become anxious and search for the word 'inquisition.'

_Inquisition, the Vatican…_ I back up a bit. _To make amends for the past wrongs of the Spanish Inquisition, the Vatican invites all Spanish Jews to Vatican City for a personal apology from the Pope._ They cannot be serious.

"Nice joke, guys," I tell them darkly, glowering at my screen. Unable to take it, I close the screen of my laptop. I turn around and glare at them unimpressed.

"Kyle!" Stan whines.

"Stan, that's retarded! If you think – " There is a gun at my temple – The Mole's gun. I suppose it's refreshing to know that he's still as reckless and impulsive as he once was. Of course it's a problem if I'm going to be working with him: he's either going to kill me or himself, thus exposing us.

"Mole – Christophe – put the damn gun away." I brush the gun away. He won't shoot me: they crossed borders for me. "Jesus Christ."

"Kyle, this isn't a joke, try hacking into their network."

"What?"

"Just hack in."

"Fine!" I huff. The Mole finally lowers his gun. "Jesus," I mutter, trying to finagle my way into their network. They have so many firewalls. Of course my first question is why they have so many firewalls. It can't be because of people hacking in to change things. No, they don't want people to see what they see.

Maneuvering through their network is an interesting experience. I stumble upon a clock. I doubt it's nothing important, so I point it out to them.

"Hey guys, take a look at this."

Gregory 'hmm's over my shoulder. "Yes, I found that before."

"What is it counting down?" Stan asks.

"The numbers are decreasing irregularly, so it's not a clock."

"I don't know," Gregory says. "Hidden countdowns…" He trails off pensively.

"Kyle, can you come up with a formula?" Stan asks.

"A formula?" What the fuck? "Why?"

"We have until it hits zero," Gregory informs me loftily. Well no shit! "We need to know when zero will fall."

God damn it!

"Not until I find out what they're doing, why it needs to be stopped and what the hell is going to stop it, then I will find out what the deadline is."

"Continue searching," The Mole growls.

"Fine," I sigh. I do some more digging, looking for anything that will shut them up. I growl in frustration. "Just tell me what I'm fucking looking for!"

The three exchange looks.

"If you guys want to work with me, you're going to have to tell me – give me a hint or something!"

"But we don't know what it is," Stan admits, blushing a bit.

"But what is it?"

"We. Don't. Know."

I look to Gregory and The Mole. They both look away.

"It's some chemical with a long name," Gregory finally states.

"Thank you!"

I search for anything chemical. About five minutes later I pull up an order slip. Not an official one, but one in their budget.

"O-Isopropyl Methylphosphofluoridate," I read. Fuck me.

"That's it!" Stan proclaims excitedly.

"Do you know what that is?" I ask urgently.

They shake their head mutely.

I draw them a Lewis structure on a scrap piece of paper and hand it to them.

"It's CH3POFOCHCH3-2," I explain as if it's not properly explained by my dot structure. "Look at it! It affects the nervous system, inhibiting cholinesterase creating a build up of acetylcholine!" I nearly shout.

"But what does that mean?" Stan stresses.

"It causes continuous nerve impulse – tetany – until death. They pretty much twitch to death. It's colorless and odorless, and it disolves completely in water. It's… what the hell is the name… sarin. It's sarin."

There's silence.

Stan breaks it.

"What is sarin?" He sounds embarrassed.

"It's used in chemical warfare," The Mole explains. "It was used in World War II in Germany. They discontinued US production in the 50's."

"Iraq was accused of producing sarin in the 90's," Gregory continues.

"Where the hell did they buy that?" Stan asks incredulously.

"Where do you think?" I ask sarcastically.

"Why would they buy anything from Iraq? Iraq's not Christian."

"Some Muslims don't like Jews," I point out. "But it's not from Iraq, it's from North Korea."

"North Korea! Damn, I'm glad I live in Canada." Stan purses his lips.

"Wait – what?" Maybe Gregory can translate Stan's obtuse moments, but I'm out of practice.

"The US is obviously in on this – meaning that not only is North Korea evil, but the US is promoting that evil by promoting the production of this sarin." He furrows his brow. "The US is therefore evil… which of course is obvious." It also explains why the US has as of yet avoided confrontation with North Korea.

Stan's syllogism and garbled logic makes sense when translated: let's get the hell out of this country.

Such a great Christmas present for the Jew: political and religious fugitive with little choice in the matter and a New Holocaust.

Merry Christmas to me.

- - - - - - -

Thank you to all my reviewers Understood, Anime Qtie, total misanthrope, smartykid, and Lilchicky004: you guys are awesome.

I apologize for the science content. I make up for not knowing anything about hacking by knowing way too much about chem and bio. If you guys are still lost in the science after Kyle explained it, feel free to ask. There will be more chemistry later on, but I can definitely tone it down.

Thank you for reading this!


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